Thoughts on nature, meditation and cabin life

November 2012

November 26, 2012

For a while I thought I was being
extremely forgetful. I would go into the shed behind the cabin and not find what
I was looking for—my work gloves, a stirring stick for the paint—and figure
that I had put them someplace else, maybe in the utility room in the cabin. But
then two weeks in a row I left things in
the shed for my deck-staining project, and when I came back to retrieve them,
they were gone. First, paper towels and rags, then the can opener to pry the
paint lid off. Then I noticed that the two paintbrushes that I had stuck in an
old yogurt container with some water were lying on the shelf, drying out, and
that the container was gone.

A former owner of the cabin had told
me they had a packrat, more scientifically known as a wood rat (more specifically, here in Colorado, a bushy-tailed wood rat), in the shed,
but when I had searched the loft area for evidence about two years ago, I
hadn’t found anything. Obviously, the packrat was back, but what was it doing
with all these things? I knew they had a reputation for collecting things for
no apparent reason, just because they liked them.

I finally climbed the rickety stairs
that went up to the loft in the shed to see if I could find my treasures, but
what I found intead was a wreath of aspen branches, with green dried out leaves still attached, about two to three feet in diameter, piled up
about six inches high. Since it was now fall, the packrat must have assembled
this earlier, planning for the days when one of its food sources wouldn’t be
around.

Lots of animals prepare for winter, but not with such an artistic
result. Is it possible that these rats, which we’ve labeled despicable and
ugly, carefully put together these assemblages with an aesthetic eye? When I
came back the next week and found garlands of pine branches draped on the wood
piles, I became convinced: this was no ordinary rat.

But there’s also a destructive side
to these animals. I found one garden glove and the clothespin basket chewed up.
When I looked closely behind the ladder and old refrigerator I found more of my
things that had been dragged off and then apparently discarded when it found
something more appealing. And the whole garage is covered with its defecation
and reeks of urine.

One of my neighbors strongly urged
me to live trap it; one had gotten in her house and almost destroyed it while
she was on vacation.I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. I’ve gotten curious
about this animal, the original packrat, that loves collecting, that goes
beyond the usual animal instinct of survival and weaves garlands of aspen and
decorates my garage with pine boughs, just in time for the holidays.

One day it
will go too far and I’ll have to haul it off into the deeper mountains. But for
now, I'm curious. I want to see the next thing that it comes up with.

November 02, 2012

When I’ve gone out for my walks this summer and fall around Meeker Park, the first thing people say to me is: “Have you seen the moose?”

It seems I always just missed it: it was down among the willows or close to the road, but by the time I got there it’s gone. My sister saw it three times this summer: once she and her dog were walking on Big Owl and the moose, with its young one, was acting in a somewhat aggressive manner, enough so that she went out of her way to avoid it; another time she and her family were on their back deck and their dog suddenly started staring intently at something.

I finally saw it last month, when it appeared across the road from my cabin. But by the time, I put down the phone and grabbed my camera, it had disappeared into the willows.

The moose have taken a long time to make their way to Meeker Park, which is maybe why they are such a big deal—that, and their size, which is immense. Bulls may reach a height of 6½ to 7½ feet at the shoulder, and weigh from 800 to 1,600 pounds, according to the Rocky Mountain National Park website. And when you add in their huge antlers, they seem even more imposing.

They were first introduced into Colorado in 1978 and 1979 by the Colorado Division of Wildlife, which transferred two groups of moose (12 each year) from Wyoming to North Park in Colorado. I’ve never understood why, because there seem to be no evidence that moose were ever permanent residents of Colorado.

They soon migrated down into the western part of Rocky Mountain National Park, but it took them a long time to figure out how to cross the divide into the eastern side.
I saw my first moose on this side about five years ago, when I was hiking up to Cub Lake, and it emerged from the willows. I was so excited I took a dozen photos and thought about showing it to the rangers, as if I had made the first sighting of moose in this part of the park. In the following years, I started seeing them more frequently, especially in areas with lakes and willows.

Both male and female moose have reputations for being unpredictable and aggressive. Again, from the RMNP website: “Rutting bull moose have charged horses, cars, and locomotives. The female is particularly protective of her calf. The moose has a top speed of 35 miles per hour.”

Which is why I was surprised to see an elderly couple, about a month ago on the Fern Lake trail in the park, slowly walking down the hill from where a moose was sitting among the grasses and bushes. She was walking with a cane, wearing a dress and city shoes, while he supported her, not walking too steadily himself. Did they think this was Disneyland, that they could get close enough to pet it? If this animal had decided to charge them, there was no way they would have been able to escape.

Other people were grouped at the bottom of the hill, directing others’ gaze toward the moose. It’s obvious that the moose has become the latest celebrity animal in the park, replacing the elk as the traffic stopper. Yet I can’t help but wonder; if you introduce an animal that doesn’t belong here, does it push out other animals and take over? The park service has been trying to reduce the number of elk because they compete with the beavers for willows. Yet the moose’s main food is willow. Like everyone else, I enjoy seeing the moose, but I’m not sure it belongs here.